𝐺𝑂! 𝐺𝑂! 𝐽𝑂𝐽𝑂! ⸰ jjba imagines

diego b. | better have my money

[minor part seven spoilers]

d i e g o b r a n d o
BITCH    BETTER
HAVE  MY  MONEY

chicago. 1891

The bar was buzzing with conversation, mainly from your table which was cozied away in its own corner. You sipped your whiskey until your righthand man, Jonas, came over with the one person you were looking for. You smiled and gestured to the seat beside you, pulling it out for him.

"Billy! How are you doing today, honey? Sit."

"Wh-What?"

"Do you have short-term memory loss as well as long-term? I said 'how are you doing?', William." You signaled for the barmaid. "Tell the nice lady what you want."

"I-I'm fine... I'm fine, th-thanks," he stammered.

"I'm being kind when I don't have to be and you're turning me down?" You addressed the barmaid who seemed unfazed by your demeanor. "No home training."

"Apologies..." he muttered to you before asking the barmaid for a bourbon.

"Now that we've got the niceties out of the way... on your knees. Right now." The man obeyed, keeping his gaze locked to the floor. "Hey." You snapped to get his attention where you wanted it. "I'm not on the floor, you are. Eyes up here, honey." When he finally met your eyes, you leaned forward on your elbows. "Where's my motherfuckin' money, Billy?" you said so softly that only the two of you could hear it.

He began to cry, quickly dissolving in hysterics. "I-I'm sorry! Please, don't... don't kill me! I-I..."

"I have very simple rules around here, right?" He nodded. "Right. And you understand why I can't go easy on you, right?" He nodded. "Mhm, because if I go easy on you, then by principle I have to easy on everyone. And you know why I can't do that, right?" He nodded. "Because then everyone starts disrespecting me and screwing me over. I can't have that because then I'd run out of bullets." Jonas grabbed the man by the hair and pressed his face into the table. You rested your head in your hand and lazily regarded him as he sobbed into the laminated mahogany. "If I don't see my $75 in two days, Billy... Jonas, here, will have a knife in your yellow belly for every dollar unaccounted for. Capisce?"

"What if I told you I could get you way more than 75 measly dollars?" said a bold, British voice. You sat up to see who had the gall to get in your business.

Standing before you and your men was a man in khaki jodhpurs and a diamond-patterned quilted teal sweater. His eyes were the color of the ocean and his hair golden like the sun. And you recognized him immediately.

"Diego Brando," you announced. "What exactly brings you here?"

Seeming to get more familiar, he came closer until you had to start craning your neck to keep your eyes trained on his face. "Your assistance."

"Mhm," you hummed in introspective thought. You raised a hand, dismissing your men and Billy from the table. "Take a seat, Diego Brando." He did as you said and sat in the chair closest to you. "I'm sure you know what I'm going to ask, Mr. Brando—"

"Diego," he said simply.

You smiled. "Diego." You leaned back in your seat. "Why should I help you?"